Not a Stalker
by rabidcrazygirl
Summary: Ianto's thoughts on his first encounter with Jack. Dialogue and situation from "Fragments." Janto fluff, all the way.
1. Not a Stalker

**This is just my version of Ianto's perspective on the first time that he and Jack met. I wanted to try my hand at writing it, and here's the result. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I am neither Russell T. Davis nor John Barrowman nor Gareth David-Lloyd. I just want to play.**

Ianto Jones didn't like to use the term "stalker," especially not when it was applied to himself. He preferred "concerned member of the public," or if push came to shove, "interested perpetual bystander." "Stalker" seemed to imply a number of things that he didn't want to think about. So he didn't.

Of course, his role as a concerned member of the public in this situation had involved him watching the cleverly hidden (read: not) doorway of Torchwood Three until the imposing American had emerged and run off down the street away from him, obviously in pursuit of something. And, as an interested perpetual bystander, Ianto had taken off after him.

It wasn't his fault, he reasoned as he jogged. When Lisa's condition had proven to be too much for him to handle on his own, he'd thought on it and come to the conclusion that the only logical place for her to be would be Torchwood. They'd have the equipment to stabilize her and (_hope of all hopes_) to cure her. Of course, since Torchwood One was all but destroyed, he turned his thoughts to the nearest logical target.

And it hadn't taken much to uncover the facts about Torchwood Cardiff. The leader—one Jack Harkness—apparently wasn't one for subtlety. There was information about them all over the internet. The heads of Torchwood London would never have stood for such blatant flamboyancy, but Ianto knew all too well that Cardiff was quite different from London. It appeared that the differences in the two cities had been mimicked in their alien-fighting organizations.

One interesting bit of information he'd picked up over the internet was Harkness's apparent willingness to shag anything that moved. He remembered groaning in exasperation over the news. It couldn't be _that_ easy.

So. Seduce his way into Torchwood. The thought had made him feel a bit dirty at first, but then he'd taken another look at Lisa and realized that, no matter what, he had to try. And besides—he wasn't about to _shag_ the man. He was just going to smile and laugh and bat his eyes. If it came down to it, he wasn't too proud to giggle so long has he could enjoy a manly pint and a rugby match afterwards.

He heard the grunts and the growls before he saw their source, but when he cleared the small stand of trees between him and the so-called "Captain," what he _did_ see was enough to make his heart stop. Harkness was engaged in what appeared to be the dirtiest wrestling match of a century with what could only be a Weevil. Ianto took a moment to gather his wits about him. It had been a long while since he'd had to deal with monsters and beasties. Biting his lip, he picked up a hefty branch and headed towards the struggling pair. With all his strength, he brought the wood crashing down onto the monster's back once…twice…then once to the head…

By that time, he was pretty sure that he had the thing's attention. He became positive when it turned on him, and Ianto felt the iron alien claws digging into his shoulders. _Shit_. He forgot about the stick in his hand and turned all his energy towards making sure the Weevil didn't tear out his jugular.

_Saved_. Harkness dove at the thing and pinned it to the ground, spraying in the face with a sort of sedative and pulling a black bag over its head. With a small sigh of relief, Ianto threw the stick away.

The man was climbing to his feet, grunting in pain, and Ianto got a good look at him for the first time in person. What he saw made him realize that grainy internet pictures rarely do justice to a truly chiseled jaw and startling blue eyes. He felt his heart skip a beat, and he turned away so that he wouldn't have to look at him. "Thanks," he muttered.

"No, thank you." The man's voice was as straightforward and larger-than-life as Harkness himself. Ianto leaned against the tree, feeling shaky and out of breath. _It's because you just wrestled a Weevil_, he thought. _The Weevil. Just the Weevil._

Of course, the Weevil was, at that point, sedated and stretched out on the ground. The only potential threat that it posed was that it had the ability to trip him up if he forgot about it and walked forward. The American had an intense, piercing gaze fixed on him, and it was a bit more difficult now to breathe than it had been before.

"And…you are?" Harkness prompted. Ianto took a moment to compose himself. It was now or never.

"Jones. Ianto Jones," he said, trying his hardest to disguise an inward grimace at the distinctly Bond-sian line. A small smile twisted the other man's lips.

"Nice to meet you, Jones Ianto Jones," he said, reaching forward and shaking Ianto's hand. The American's fingers were warm and dry and strong, and Ianto's slightly overactive imagination kicked into hyper-speed. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness."

Again, Ianto found himself compelled to look away. Of course, the only other thing to look at in his field of vision was the sedated Weevil, but he stared down at it anyway, because it was better than mentally cheating on Lisa any more than he already had. "Lucky escape," he commented, for lack of anything else to say.

"I had it under control," Harkness replied. Ianto raised an eyebrow, though the cocky attitude was nothing less than what he would have expected of a man like him.

"You think so?" he asked. The man smiled again, though this time it was a bit more dangerous. He kept going, plastering a bit of a cocky smile on his own face. "Looked pretty vicious."

The man kept smiling, and Ianto squinted at him. He could have _sworn_—the Weevil had gone for the American's throat, and he was fairly sure that it had succeeded in at least tearing the skin. "You're—" he said, reaching out. Harkness flinched away, and Ianto saw that his skin was as whole and as blemish-free as it could possibly be. He blinked at the older man, trying to keep the cocky smile on his face as he continued. "You _were_ bleeding."

"Had worse from shaving." _Damn_ the man! Ianto had no idea why or how he insisted upon making eye contact the way he did, but every time—every _damn_ time—he met Harkness's eyes, it was increasingly difficult to break away. He looked back down at the Weevil on the ground.

"Looked like a Weevil to me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Harkness's voice was low and slightly amused. Ianto fixed him with "Oh, come off it" look, hoping that if he just called the man's bluff then he'd be offered a job on the spot. He was tired of playing the knowledgeable eye-candy. But Harkness remained firm, and though the look on his face showed that he was perfectly well aware of Ianto's accuracy, he turned to go. "I'll take it from here," he said. Ianto watched in concerned astonishment as the American reached down and hoisted the alien up onto his shoulder.

_Shit_. He cursed again as the older man drew closer until they were practically nose-to-nose. "Thanks for the assistance," Harkness said, and Ianto felt chills down his spine. It would have been a lie to say that he was not turned on, but he did his best to maintain a poker-face.

"Anytime," he said as the American walked away. But Ianto Jones was not one to let another get the last quip in a situation, especially not a situation as desperate as this. Seduce him. Seduce him. How am I supposed to do that? It occurred to Ianto that perhaps Harkness was a bit more experienced in the ways of seduction than he was. He couldn't just let him get away, though. With that resolution in mind, Ianto shouted the first thing that popped into his head at the man's retreating back. "By the way—" Harkness paused. He was listening. Ianto grinned. "Love the coat."

**So, did you like it? Review! And when you've done reviewing (warning: shameless stumping ahead) why not read some of my other stories?**


	2. Not Desperate

**Hello! So, I decided to continue this. I like writing for Ianto, as do most people, but I have to say that the number of fics out there that represent him as an angsty, whiny, crying, whinging berk are mind-boggling and slightly annoying. It's just not the character!**

**Disclaimer: I own Gareth David-Lloyd. He's tied up in my room. HAHAHAHAHAHA!**

Ianto Jones did not like the term "desperate," especially when it was used to describe him. He'd always thought of himself as incredibly put-together, as someone whom nothing could faze. But Lisa's medical condition didn't leave a lot of room for his preferences, not when all that he could think about was keeping her alive and as comfortable as possible.

Ianto had always known that he was capable of becoming obsessed. He'd just thought he was obsessed with Lisa.

But now he lay awake in his narrow bed and Lisa's welfare, while still preying on his thoughts, slipped to the back of his mind. It was replaced by a cocky grin and a pair of laughing blue eyes. That American. _Captain Jack Harkness_. He unsuccessfully tried to suppress a grin of his own. The name suited the boisterous man.

But he hadn't gotten the job. The thought wiped the slight smile off of his face. How was he supposed to help Lisa (_the love of my life, she's the love of my life,_ he reminded himself) if he wasn't allowed the technology needed to do so?

He slept very badly that night—guilt kept him awake. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that man's face, not Lisa's, and the guilt tore him up inside. So, to combat those intense and unwelcome feelings, he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and made himself a cup of coffee (Lisa always said that he made damn good coffee, and he was forced to agree), and stared out the black window of his flat into the nighttime nothingness. The steam from the hot liquid rolled over his chin and his cheeks because he was holding his cup so close to his face, leaving them slightly damp, but he didn't care. Curled up in the one armchair in the den, the night passed more quickly than he'd ever thought that it would.

So many thoughts flickered through his head during that blurry time. He thought of Lisa, sleeping sedated in the guest room, hooked up to machinery that was so precarious and unprofessionally assembled that she ran the risk of coding at any moment. He thought of the fact that, without a job, his bank account was rapidly drying up. And he thought of Torchwood, his only way out of the mounting pile of problems that threatened to crush him, body and spirit. He reached an important decision.

He'd have to try again.

When the first weak rays of sunlight began to tint the sides of the Cardiff skyscrapers in his line of vision, he roused himself out of the chair. Also during the night, he'd assembled a mental To-Do list of morning tasks.

1.) Make more coffee. His sleepless night had left him feeling pallid and drained.

2.) Take shower. Wash off Weevil-sweat, or whatever it had been from the last night.

3.) Eat something. He tended to neglect this step normally, which led to embarrassing dizzy spells and, on one memorable occasion, his passing-out and knocking down the water cooler at Torchwood One. Lisa would never let him forget that, mostly because the falling jug had drenched her new suit.

4.) Stop thinking about Jack Harkness in anything but the strictly professional sense.

Unfortunately, his time in the shower was longer than he'd realized it would be. He had poured himself a cup before stepping in, and his prolonged shower left him panicked and frantic. He wanted to get to Torchwood before any other team members got there, mostly because he didn't think that he would be capable of dealing with more than one at a time. Jack was preferable. He didn't know why, but Jack was definitely preferable.

He was in such a rush in getting out the door that he didn't realize he was carrying a brimming coffee mug in his hand until he was two blocks away from his flat and he'd splashed his hand with the scalding liquid. _Shit._ Ianto briefly debated returning home to put the mug down, but a quick glance at his watch ruled that option out.

_Should I ditch the cup?_ he wondered, walking along at a brisk pace. _Does it make me look too much like a nutter? But then again, I've never acted all that sane, even on normal days._ He smiled wryly and snorted a laugh. _Maybe I could try to seduce him with my coffee._

Ianto had been waiting outside the Torchwood office for twenty minutes (though to him, it felt like twenty years) before Jack emerged. He was wearing the same coat Ianto had admired the night before, and Ianto felt a slight twinge of jealousy to note that the man looked none the worse for wear for the previous night's Weevil-tussel. The sight of the older man striding so purposefully made Ianto feel more uncertain about the whole business than he'd ever felt before.

"Morning," he greeted Jack. His voice was slightly weak, and Ianto wished that once, just once, he could have his sister's proclivity for false bravado. It would make this whole thing so much easier.

"Coffee?" This word seemed even weaker than the last, mostly because holding a ceramic coffee mug out to a man he barely knew on a dock seemed more like nutter-behavior than he'd ever imagined on the way over.

But Harkness was having none of it. "Don't. There is no job." Nevertheless (_drawn by the tempting scent of the brew?_ Ianto hoped), he reached out and took the offensive mug from Ianto's hands. He watched as the older man took a tentative sip, then pulled an appreciative face. Ianto fought hard to conceal his feeling of smug success as Jack uttered a strangled, "Wow," before handing the cup back.

_Oh, fuck it,_ Ianto thought. _May as well just jump right in. If the coffee didn't do it, then nothing can._

"I want to work for you," he told Jack, who barely gave him a chance to finish the sentence before cutting in.

"Sorry, there are no vacancies."

Ianto didn't like the term "desperate," but he was rapidly beginning to understand that it applied to him more than he'd ever cared to admit before. Proof of that newfound realization began to seep into his voice, despite all efforts to the contrary. "Look, let me tell you about myself—"

This time Jack really _did_ cut him off. "Ianto Jones, born August 19, 1983. Able student, but not exceptional. One minor conviction for shoplifting in your teens." The man began striding down the dock, and it was all that Ianto, stunned as he was by the sudden efflux of his own personal information, could do to clutch the horrible coffee mug and follow behind in a manner that he found himself comparing to a lost puppy. "A number of temporary jobs—mainly a drifter until two years ago you joined the Torchwood Institute in London. Junior researcher. Girlfriend: Lisa Hallet."

_He knows about Lisa? Shit! Keep going, just keep going. He can't know the whole story. No one knows the whole story._ The thoughts darted through his head as fast as photons, resolving in the one word that he uttered in order to both clarify and cloud the situation for Harkness as much as possible—"Deceased."

"Sorry." The man's tone indicated that he couldn't care less, and Ianto's reluctant desperation took a spike. Placing a hand on Jack's chest, he forced the older man to stop.

"Look—you checked me out," he pointed out, trying to ignore both the double entendre in his words and the feeling of the man's chest under his fingers. Quickly, he drew his hand away.

"You knew what a Weevil was," Harkness replied. "I thought I was going to have to come…deal with you." And now Ianto had _another_ thing to worry about ignoring—Jack was looking him up and down, eying him like a piece of candy.

"But instead you could see I had the right qualifications for the job_." Just keep plowing ahead,_ he told himself. _If you can just—keep—focused—you'll get what you came here for._

Unfortunately, these seemed like exactly the wrong words. "We're nothing to do with Torchwood London," Jack snapped. "I've severed all links." He stormed past Ianto and kept walking down the dock.

_Shit shit shit. Don't let him get away!_ Despite the heavy feeling that this mission was entirely useless, he chased after the other man.

"Yet when it burned, two members of your team scavenged the ruins!" He remembered this day. A man and a woman had shown up out of nowhere to rummage through the old halls. Ianto hadn't been all that interested because his main concern at the time had been keeping Lisa alive, but they'd called themselves Torchwood. That name was enough to draw anyone's attention, especially his. He realized with a couple seconds' delay that his hand had found its way to Jack's chest again. So did Jack, it seemed. The man reached up and removed the offending appendage as though it was a dead skunk.

"We don't want the equipment getting into the wrong hands."

"And you're the right hands, are you?" The words just slipped out—Ianto couldn't help himself. Despite his desperation (yes, desperation—he'd accepted it) for the job, he still wasn't all that comfortable with working for a branch of Torchwood. Too much pain had occurred at Canary Wharf—more than he could ever forget. The fact that Torchwood was behind the whole thing was stamped into his memory forever.

Jack just glared at him. _Fuck_! Ianto backpedaled quickly.

"Trial period. Three months."

"No." Harkness sounded as adamant as ever.

_Shit_.

"Three weeks." No response.

_Shit_. Oh, desperation was coming to claim its own, and Ianto was giving in more willingly than he'd ever imagined.

"Three days! Let me prove myself to you—I'll work for nothing!"

"No!" Now the older man was more than adamant—he was angry. Without another word, he brushed past Ianto and continued walking. A little voice in Ianto's head—that voice of desperation that he'd been ignoring for so long—sent up a little scream of aggravation.

"I saw what they did at Canary Wharf!" His voice was louder than he'd intended it to be, and his grip on the Captain's shoulder was more aggressive than he'd intended. He saw the man close his eyes in irritation, and he knew that he was treading an incredibly dangerous line.

He didn't care.

"What am I supposed to do with those memories?"

For a heart-stopping second, Ianto was certain that Jack was about to haul off and punch him in the face. Oddly enough, his one irrational thought was that of concern, not for himself, but for what he held in his hand—he didn't want to break the coffee mug or waste the coffee inside. _I _need_ to get out more_, he thought.

"You are not my responsibility!" Harkness's voice was even louder than Ianto's had been. "And we are not hiring!" For the third and final time in three minutes, the older man pushed past Ianto and stalked away. But for some reason (probably a mixture of lack of sleep and caffeine) Ianto found this slightly amusing.

"Same time tomorrow then?" he called after the man's retreating back.

"There's no job for you here, and there never will be!" Fatigue and jitteriness only made this comment more amusing for Ianto, who said the only thing that popped into his head.

"I really like that coat!"

**Did you like it? Please review! If I do the third part, it'll be a very long one, so I might have to split it up into two other chapters. I don't know. Whatever happens, happens.**


	3. Not Plotting

**Hello everyone! So, this is the last chapter, and it features the third meeting between Ianto and Jack from "Fractures." I hope that you enjoy it! If you do, please review!**

**Disclaimer: If you haven't gotten the point by now, there's no hope for you.**

Ianto Jones did not enjoy the term "scheming," especially when it was used to describe him. The word evoked the image of a man with a twirl-able thin black moustache and a top hat who cackled loudly at things that weren't funny and tied girls in long dresses to train tracks. No matter any of his eccentricities, Ianto knew that sort of thing just wasn't his style. "Scheming" was out of the question for him, as was "conniving," "calculating," or any other synonym for the even-more-dreaded word, "devious."

But, despite his discomfort with the matter, the fact that he'd purposefully tracked down a pterodactyl in a huge warehouse, checked Captain Jack Harkness' driving route so that their paths would intersect and tucked a large dark chocolate candy bar into the inside pocket of his jacket did imply a degree of scheming. He dealt with this the way that he dealt with everything else he was uncomfortable with in his life (the list of which was growing ever since first meeting the larger-than-life American)—he chose not to think about it.

Also featured prominently on the list of things Ianto Jones chose not to think about:

1.) The fact that he'd felt the need to dress up. Forcing Jack into capturing a pterodactyl wasn't a date. Dating was the last thing on his mind. But when he'd opened his closet before setting out that evening…well, jeans and a T-shirt just seemed to be not enough.

2.) The fact that he wasn't completely positive that he would be able to adequately handle a pterodactyl. Team members of Torchwood One had some experience, but when all was said and done, Ianto's experience was more in the paperwork end of the spectrum. And he wasn't entirely confident in his ability to improvise.

3.) The fact that, despite continually upping her dosage, the painkillers just didn't seem to be doing Lisa any good. Bless her, she tried not to show it, but at nighttime when the flat was silent, he could hear her muffled whimpers through the wall. Sometimes he sat with her through the night, holding her hand, but those nights always seemed to be the worst for her. Sometimes she couldn't even feel his hand on hers through the pain.

He'd never thrown himself in front of a speeding car before, especially not at night, especially not while wearing a black suit. He'd also never thrown himself in front of a speeding car containing someone who would probably shoot him the moment he saw them. Ianto knew that he was probably the _last_ person that Captain Jack Harkness wanted to see, particularly after his semi-crazed interview that morning.

But, if there was one thing he'd learned over the past few years, it was that there was a first time for everything. It was with that attitude in mind that he gathered his nerve, said a quick prayer to the God of Automobiles that the car would have a good set of brakes, and stepped into the headlights of the Captain's oncoming car. An overwhelming sense of relief swept through him when the car screeched to a halt, just in time. He figured that Jack probably didn't see who he was until the car had stopped moving, otherwise he would have just run him over.

And now Jack was stalking towards him, obvious furious. "Okay, this has to stop," were the first words out of his mouth. Suddenly, Ianto was totally unsure of how to broach this topic. _Look, there's this dinosaur…_ would probably make the Captain not only scoff at him, but punch him. If he tried to start the conversation more subtly, the American would most likely walk away before he had the chance to finish the sentence. It was acutely apparent to Ianto that subtlety was not to Jack's taste.

"Look, listen to m—" he began in the hopes that maybe (_oh, God, just once, please just don't hurt me_) the other man _would_. But Jack was having none of it.

"I don't have time for this!" He shouted, and Ianto started back a step. He'd never seen the man this worked up before, and a sinking feeling in his stomach told him that maybe—just maybe—he'd gone a little too far. Reviewing his recent actions, he was forced to agree with this newfound point of view. Stepping in front of an oncoming vehicle did look more than a little mad. "Look, I don't care what your problem is, I want you out of this city by sunrise," Jack continued. "There is no place for you here! Go back to London. Find yourself another life. Keep stalking me, I'll wipe your memory."

_Stalking_. That dreaded word. The first of all the Dreaded Words on his list of Dreaded Words. _I'm not a stalker! _he wanted to shout, but if he had to own up to the truth, then his behavior certainly pointed in that guilty direction.

"No, but the thing is—" He didn't know why he was protesting. Jack obviously wasn't interested. Perhaps it was because he wasn't sure what to do with the wild pterodactyl he'd discovered. Perhaps he was just running out of options. And that's where the second Dreaded Word cropped up. Desperate. He was fucking _desperate_, and all possibility for denial had flown out the window the moment he'd stepped in front of the SUV.

"Any conversation between us, no matter the topic, is over!" Jack was standing disconcertingly close as he shouted the words, and his proximity made it a bit difficult for Ianto to concentrate. He caught a whiff of some strange smell—_musk? Cologne? Aftershave?—_that clouded his head even more. "Finished! Done forever! I'm getting back behind the wheel of that car. If you're still standing in the road, I'm gonna drive through you."

The man turned to stride back towards his car. _Fuck it,_ Ianto thought. Just as threats had never worked on him, subtlety had never worked with Captain Jack, and he didn't see any reason to keep trying to same failing tactic. He might as well just go for it, and if he got shot, then he got shot, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"So you're not going to help me catch this pterodactyl, then?"

To his shock, the older man stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face him, a nonplussed look on his face. "A _pterodactyl_?" he said. "_Really_?" Ianto, determined not to push his luck, nodded silently in confirmation. With a slightly longing look at the SUV and possible freedom from Welsh stalkers, Jack took a deep breath. "What are we waiting for?" he asked.

It was a matter of moments before Jack had a strange case opened in the trunk of the car and was screwing together some sort of huge syringe. Ianto looked at it skeptically. He'd seen the pterodactyl, and he just didn't know how a giant needle was going to help bring it down.

"Okay, that is the only special equipment you've got?" he asked.

"Yeah, because I keep dinosaur nets in the back of the SUV." The sarcasm in Jack's response had Ianto fighting a smile. He cocked his head to the side.

"Torchwood London would have." This was a blatant lie, but in the spirit of banter, Ianto figured that he might as well give it a try. Jack shot him an exasperated look that clearly both called him on his bluff and expressed his anger with the topic of Torchwood One coming up in conversation. Without another word, the older man jogged to the door of the warehouse and kicked it open. Ianto strangled a cry of warning—he knew that this wasn't exactly the brightest of plans—but before he could utter a sound, the American was through the door and (to Ianto's surprise) Ianto was right behind him. His light-blind eyes couldn't see anything in the gloom, but his hearing didn't need any adjusting. He could hear the flapping of great leathery wings the moment the door was opened, and the earsplitting screech of an angry dinosaur was something that the human race had been evolutionary conditioned to avoid. The moment that his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he saw a giant shape screaming out of the shadows. "Nope!" Ianto shouted unnecessarily, mind still in banter-mode. As one person, he and Jack flew back out the door, slamming it behind them.

_Shit shit shit._ Ianto could feel his heart pounding in his throat, and his breath came in heavy gasps. He pressed his palms against the metal door, savoring the coolness and the fact that he was—for the moment—still alive to feel it. It took him a moment to realize that there was someone next to him. He glanced to his right, and there was Jack, leaning next to the door beside him. That strange, musty scent wafted through the air towards Ianto again, making his insides heat in a funny way. He cursed inside his head both because he just _knew_ that it was Jack and because he was now having to resist the urge to lick his lips.

"How'd you find it?" Jack wanted to know.

"Rift activity locater." It was one of many useful little gadgets that he'd stolen from the wreckage of Torchwood One in the hopes that it would in some way help Lisa.

"…Torchwood London…" Ianto detected more than a note of animosity in the other man's voice.

"See? Quality kit." This was mostly to dig at Jack. Ianto had been living in a constant state of irritation and frustration ever since he'd met the man, and he wanted to get back at him, at least a little bit. Torchwood London seemed to be the way to do it.

Again, Jack called Ianto's bluff and didn't respond to the taunting. Instead, he took the information at face value, grinning widely. "That's quite excitable!" Jack exclaimed. Mind clouded as it was by the man's closeness, Ianto wasn't certain whether he was talking about the situation, the gear, or the smell.

"Must be your aftershave," he commented, going with the last (and most idiotic) option. His banter-switch was still flicked to "on," so he could barely resist it.

Harkness looked slightly surprised at Ianto's words. "Never wear any."

_What?_ "You smell like that naturally?" _Damn damn damn damn!_ If the man smelled like that all the time…well, "irresistible" didn't quite begin to cover it.

"51st century pheromones. People have no idea." Ianto didn't quite no what he was talking about, but the smell was clouding his head, and he couldn't think straight. He let the confusing comment slide. "Ready for another go?" Jack asked. Ianto jumped at the chance to get away from the bewildering man and his "51st century pheromones, whatever those were."

"I'm game if you are," he said.

"Three…two…one!" Without a moment's hesitation, Jack turned and shoved the door open again. Ianto had barely time to think before he was sprinting after the other man into the dark warehouse. He almost didn't hear Jack's shouted "Split up!" but it didn't matter—he had anticipated the man's order and was running counterclockwise along the perimeter before the words had escaped the American's mouth. The screech of the pterodactyl ran fingernails down the chalkboards of Ianto's mind, and he suppressed a shiver. He didn't notice that he was running back towards Jack until the pair met up again in the center of the room, at which point he didn't have a choice but to notice the man's proximity. The smell of those damn pheromones was stronger than ever, as was the iron grip of Jack's hand on Ianto's shoulder, pushing him backwards. The place where he touched Ianto felt curiously warm even after the other man had let go.

"Shh…ohhhh," Jack said, and it took a moment for Ianto to realize that Jack was talking to the pterodactyl and not to him. The American reached a hand out towards the beast, a move that Ianto would have advised against because he knew for a fact that pterodactyls were not known for their surgical abilities, though that didn't stop them from trying. The man might be able to take down a Weevil, but with one hand he would have a hell of a more difficult time putting up a fight.

"I'm not going to harm you." Jack's voice was pure honey as he advanced on the dinosaur. Ianto felt almost as though he was drowning in it, surrounded by brown velvet. "You can't stay here. Come back with me. I've got somewhere nice and big where you can fly around." Ianto couldn't help but roll his eyes at this. The assertion was ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as talking to a dinosaur as if it could understand. And besides, one major inconsistency cropped up and reared its ugly head in Ianto's direction.

"Okay, so you'll let the pterodactyl in, and not me!" he hissed at Jack, who didn't even bother to turn around.

"I need a guard dog," Jack growled. Ianto nearly groaned in exasperation.

"I could be that!" Oh, desperation was one sick bastard. "Like a receptionist! Building maintenance…food and drink…dry cleaning, even! That coat of yours must take a battering!" Jack still wasn't turning. "Like a butler! I could be a butler!" It wasn't until after these words had marched out that Ianto was faced with a brief but ridiculous image of himself, with a towel slung over one arm. _"Yes, sir," "No, sir," "Thank you, sir."_ It was almost too humiliating to be believed, but the words were already out, and Ianto was running distressingly low on options.

_No one's calling me Jeeves,_ _though,_ he thought rebelliously.

"We don't need a butler," Jack said through gritted teeth.

The dams Ianto had raised against the rising tides of frustration burst, and he grabbed the other man's arm more violently than he'd intended to. He needed this job. Someone's life hung in the balance—the life of someone he loved dearly, someone whose future had been unfairly taken from them. He wasn't about to let one stubborn man stand in his way, not when the only reason for his resolution against Ianto was a minor involvement in the deeds of Torchwood One.

"Excuse me, dried blood on your collar!" Ianto pointed out. At last he got something of a reaction from the other man: a glance.

"Yeah, well, that was a busy week!" Jack hissed back, pulling away. Ianto grabbed his arm again, not brushed off so easily.

"What, exactly, is your plan?" he asked, knowing that Harkness probably didn't even have one. The pterodactyl, watching them approach, sqwuaked and flapped its wings.

"I'm going to be the decoy," Jack said. Ianto snorted—it was probably the stupidest plan he'd ever heard.

"Then…it will rip you to shreds," Ianto said slowly, hoping that if he spelled it out for the older man then the information would somehow find its way into his thick skull. Unfortunately, this didn't seem to have much of an affect on the other man.

"Dinosaurs?" The Captain laughed. "Had 'em for breakfast. Had to. Only source of pre-killed food protein after the asteroid crashed."

Ianto just looked at him, wondering why he thought now was such a great time to joke around. Jack shot him a look. "Er…long story," he clarified, in a way that only made the situation more confusing for the Welshman. "Here you go." Jack handed the gigantic needle to Ianto, who stared at it. Again, he was faced with the total impossibility of the situation. What was a needle going to do to a prehistoric monster? "One injection to the central nervous cortex. I'll keep it occupied. Move."

_Are you completely insane?_ Ianto wanted to scream at the man. "No!" he protested.

"What?" Jack was obviously not used to having his orders questioned. Ianto shoved the needle back into the American's hands.

"It _knows_ me!" Ianto said, gesturing at the beast. This was the obvious solution, the one he should have suggested earlier so that he would have to have uncovered these disconcerting suicidal tendencies in his prospective employer. "I'd be a better decoy!"

"It'll be too dangerous!" Jack said. Ianto rolled his eyes as he fumbled in his pocket for the tool he had brought along with him that was absolutely a sign of scheming because he absolutely did not scheme. _More dangerous for me than for you?_ he thought skeptically. _It's the same dinosaur! It'll be perfectly happy ripping either one of us apart!_

"I've got a secret weapon!" Ianto said, more cockily than he actually felt. He pulled the candy bar out of his pocket. "Chocolate. Preferably dark." Jack looked at him with the same "You must be mad" expression on his face that had recently had a comfortable home among Ianto's features. Ianto ran around the older man, approaching the dinosaur tentatively.

He knew the dinosaur, yes, but how well does any man know a dinosaur? Well enough to name it, perhaps—he and Myfanwy had encountered one another occasionally through Torchwood London, but they weren't exactly on speaking terms. _So how do you get a dinosaur's attention?_ He whistled carefully, as though the beast was a dog. "It's your favorite!" he whispered, gesturing at the chocolate and feeling a right arse. The pterodactyl reared and screeched, and Ianto felt his blood turning to ice water. But, partly because Jack was watching and partly because he didn't really have any other option, he kept on walking forwards, brandishing the chocolate bar like the Candy Man from Hell. He tossed it at the animal, who snatched at it like an overgrown heron.

"It's good for your…serotonin levels," Ianto said, though he couldn't believe that he was talking at all, much less saying such idiotic things. "If you've…got serotonin levels…"

Ianto learned an important lesson in the next moment, which was that dinosaurs are _incredibly_ ungrateful. The pterodactyl turned, saw Jack (who _grinned_? Did he seriously _grin_?), and lunged for the man. Before Ianto could blink, Jack was flying through the air, grasping the soaring dinosaur by the leg.

_What the fuck…?_

Ianto spent several bewildered and highly concerned moments trying to figure out what the hell Jack was doing with the dinosaur. What confused him the most was the fact that the man was laughing, that laughter mixing with the prehistoric shrieks of the pterodactyl. _Is he seriously that mad? Does he have that much of a death wish? Or does he just not care?_

Something seemed to be distressing Myfanwy, something more than the full-grown man dangling from her leg. Suddenly, Jack's laughter turned into a cry as he topped from the air. Without thinking, Ianto stretched out his arms to Jack, even though logic told him that there was no way he'd be able to catch him without becoming a landing pad. And sure enough, he was knocked to the ground, Jack squarely on top of him. He let out a groan as all the air was punched out of his lungs. The other man was making more or less the same noise, but he managed to gasp out a "Sorry…" But Ianto wasn't paying close attention to the man on top of him—his eyes were drawn by the dinosaur that seemed to be following suit to Jack, falling headfirst to the ground, bound to land right on top of both of them. As one person, the two men rolled to the side, out of the sedated creature's path. When Ianto could look away from its scaly face, he realized that he was both laughing and lying right on top of Jack.

_Shit_. The pheromones. They swamped through Ianto just like Jack's voice had, only minutes before. Ianto's laughter evaporated in his throat—it felt like he was no longer in control of his own body, which was determined to get as close to Jack as possible. Slowly—slowly but deliciously, his face moved lower and lower, drawing closer to Jack's. His eyes flicked down to the other man's lips, and he was transfixed. Ianto could feel Jack's chest heaving with exertion, and the man's lips were parted to allow his panting breath through.

It was possibly the hottest thing Ianto had ever seen.

He had to get away.

Ianto drew back slightly, saying the only thing that he could think of. "I should go." Ianto pushed himself to his feet, beginning to walk away but (_oh, God, no_) he heard Jack rising, too.

"Hey." Jack's voice made Ianto feel like a hunted animal, and he realized that he was standing like one, shoulders hunched and head bent. He didn't want to turn, he didn't want to look at the disturbing man again, but he kind of _did_ want to, at the same time. He settled for a sort of half-turn, one that didn't make him look any less like a hunted animal and might actually have amplified the illusion. He didn't care.

"Report for work first thing tomorrow."

_What? _An hour ago, Ianto would have rejoiced to hear those words but now—now they made his stomach turn over. Lisa's face swam before his eyes. _I'm doing this for you, _he thought, as he had thought so many times before, but this time the thought was mixed with a degree of guilt, the same guilt he'd been feeling constantly for the past few days. Ianto didn't respond. He couldn't. He kept walking.

"Like the suit, by the way." Jack's deep voice sent shivers down Ianto's spine that made the guilt even stronger. He'd never felt this conflicted in his life—on one hand, he was doing this to save the life of the woman he loved. On the other, he betrayed her every single time he thought about Jack.

Life with Torchwood Three certainly wasn't about to be easy.

He walked out of the warehouse and into the night.

**Whew! That was quite an undertaking! I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, why not review? Why not read some of my other stories? Oh, well. It was a thought.**


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